


small towns make for small friends

by AnnCherie



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pre-Canon, M/M, future mylex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-04
Updated: 2019-08-04
Packaged: 2020-07-30 16:49:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20100448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnCherie/pseuds/AnnCherie
Summary: Most of Roswell's '09 graduating class left as soon as possible and didnt look back. The Evans' stayed, Maria Deluca, and Michael Guerin. Unfortunately for Michael, after Kyle Valenti leaves he chooses to come back.





	small towns make for small friends

**Author's Note:**

  * For [larenoz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/larenoz/gifts).

> this is based off a tumblr prompt given by larenoz and will likely be a continuing series

Small desert towns, however sparse and anachronistic, gave away knowledge to the people that dared to live in them. For instance the long stretches of roads in and out of Roswell were used for specific things by the locals. One road led to the airstream and dairy ranches, one led out of the town to better things, one circled tourist attractions for tin foil hat visitors, and one rounded around the various homesteads of people daring enough to lead a small life. 

There was nothing too off-putting about seeing a car stopped along the stretch of road to his airstream home; Michael was almost certain it was a townie. Dead cell service littered this specific road, so there was a possibility the driver needed help. Not something he usually cared about, but it was near the end of the month and he was tight on rent after paying up his bill with a stubborn Maria Deluca at the Wild Pony.

He slowed down about a mile back, trying to identify which Roswell citizen he would be dealing with only to have a strong suspicion that the SUV didn’t belong to the usual country folk. Thinking through his mind’s catalog of car owners he kept for business use, he remembered all too late that the grossly shiny vehicle belonged to Kyle Valenti. Just the thought of having to talk to the asshole made Guerin begin to speed up again to drive past, but the more logical part of his brain still pressed… It was doctor's money. It was the chance to screw Valenti over, because there was little chance in hell the doctor remembered anything from the auto shop class the jock used to ditch. 

In the end he stopped, but he’s all fired up for a fight even so. Walking up from behind the back of the SUV, he knocked on the driver’s window before reaching it and looking in. When Valenti rolled down the tinted window, he looked like hell. Red eyes, disheveled black hair that mousse no longer held up, and a hollow stare accompanied with a tight jaw.

"Crying over your car?” Michael jabbed. “Promise it's not that pretty.”

"Car's fine," was the exhausted response, no usual arrogant bite to hear. "Thanks for stopping.”

Michael couldn’t help but stare, unprepared for what he had secretly hoped to be a fight. Confusion won over, although mocking still slipped into his tone as he drawled. "Thanks?”

Dark brown eyes stared at him now, and while there was the tiniest traces of anger, there was an overpowering desperation to them as well. "What do you want from me, Guerin?” he asked. “I’m really not in the mood to see more blood, so how about we do the highschool reunion thing where you break my nose later.”

"More blood, huh?” Michael prodded, too caught up in the past to be anything then violent. “Who'd you kill?”

A flicker of pain trembled through Kyle Valenti’s face, activating that one nerve that always stood out, before the man turned on the ignition and sneered at the open road, not even looking at Michael as he rolled up the window and peeled off the dirt and onto the blacktop, leaving Guerin so confused that he thought about the interaction all the way home. 

* * *

The Wild Pony was one of the few reliefs Michael found in this dusty town, somewhere between the alcohol, Deluca’s constant stream of snarky insults, and a large supply of people to deck whenever the mood struck him. (It struck him often.)

Tonight he felt more calm, having made some good money between fixing a truck and selling some copper wire on the side. The whiskey Maria served him was nice and cold (positive reinforcement for squaring his tab) and the acetone he slipped into it gave him an even better buzz. While he was focusing on the intoxicating feeling and how it calmed down the constant overstimulation of the magnetic fields he was always on the edge of pushing, he noticed an unusual guest at his favorite bar. As far as possible from the bar itself sat Kyle Valenti cornered up in the back of a booth.

Maria was opposite Michael behind the bar for the minute, and he nodded to her. “What’s up with Valenti?”

Her face fell a little, sadness rising up that she hardly ever showed. “He lost a patient during surgery. You know Sam Cooper? His kid. Nine years old, got real messed up on a dirtbike without a helmet.”

Trying not to remember how his last words to Valenti were now deeply horrible, he replied. "Oh. They related?”

“No, Guerin,” Maria snapped at him, judgment all over her face. “People don't need to be related to care about each other. Foreign concept for you, I know.”

“Just a question, Deluca,” he huffed, but she had already sent him another glare before walking off to serve another customer, leaving him to fight any feeling of guilt.

Because he wasn’t guilty. It wasn’t his fucking fault that Valenti sucked at being a surgeon, or that he had stabbed at a fresh wound. Who cared that the asshole jock was finally learning that he wasn’t invincible and that hard times existed? 

In the end, Deluca was too good at getting under his skin. 

Grabbing his drink, he sauntered over to the corner booth and sat across from Valenti, every nerve of him on edge in case things went sour. All he got in return was Kyle’s confused narrowed eyes and equally as tensed muscles.

"You're a third of the reason Alex Manes left, you know that?” Michael growled out at him. "And _full_ offense, I hate you.”

There wasn't anything Valenti said to that, which was probably best because any excuse wouldn’t go over well. 

"That all said, you want a beer?” 

Kyle stared, silent still, but exhaled a long breath that’s more or less an agreement. Michael gestured at Deluca, who had been giving them a hawkeyed stare the entire conversation (if you could call it that), and he wasn't surprised when she walked over with the drinks herself, all huffy. Her lips are pursed, and her eyes are cautiously looking back and forth at the interaction, but when the drinks are dropped off and Valenti works on the beer she’s given him she turns to glare down Michael. "You scratch even an inch on my floor if you start fighting and you're banned for a week.”

“Just me?” he asked her, a smug grin on his face. “I'm touched.”

She made a face at him per usual, but he didn't miss the way she left with a small squeeze on Kyle's shoulder. It was quick and soft, but it was also supportive. Michael couldn't imagine being on the receiving end of something like that from Maria Deluca, but the man’s face doesn’t even change. No smile, no lean in, just another small exhale.

It seemed like the only thing Kyle Valenti was capable of doing right now was drinking and breathing in and out. As much as he despised sharing anything deeper than highschool alma mater with him, Michael had to admit he was familiar with the feeling.

When things had dragged out and the doctor was now silently on his fourth beer, Michael gave up. "Gotta get out of your head, Valenti.”

"Ever seen someone die?” Kyle snapped, suddenly coming to life with a violence that he hadn’t expected was boiling underneath after such calm silence. Immediately Michael was on edge, but not because he thought he would be attacked. More because he could sense how much Valenti wanted to attack himself. “Ever felt it?”

Begging his mind not to bring up the memories of Rosa Ortecho that answer that question, he stayed quiet and still for once.

Valenti shook his head, a scoff ready. “I don't know why I ask. If you had, you'd know that's impossible.” Before Michael could even decide on what to say, Kyle added, “Just leave me alone, Guerin. Half the town already hates me for failing, I don’t need you sitting across from me adding reminders on how I suck.”

Partly to break the mood, partly because of the emotional emphasis on the word that translated as simple emphasis, Michael laughed.

It didn't go over well. “Excuse me?”

“How you _suck_?” Michael commented, a smirk finding its way to his face even if things were about to dissolve into the bar fight that Deluca was worried about.

All Valenti did was glare. “Are you 12?”

“Nah, just bisexual. Much easier to take everything dirty,” he replied, tilting his chin up in a defiant challenge. All he needed was one reason to kick Valenti’s ass despite this meeting and tilt everything back into its normal axis where the world of Roswell contained Michael Guerin and Kyle Valenti as sworn enemies who wouldn’t spend a second in each other’s presence.

But there wasn’t even the tiniest of reaction to the declaration. No judgment, no disgust, no arrogance. Just clear annoyance at his grief being interrupted for something juvenile. "How I suck is none of your business.”

"How, or who…?” Michael asked. Self-loathing for being observant and curious enough to ask would be a problem for later.

Kyle Valenti only stared him down, and with that Michael almost dropped his whiskey. Almost. It was good whiskey. “Well look who joined the 21st century. Karma’s a bitch, right?”

When all the doctor does is look away again, the temper in him flares up. He slammed the glass down heavily on the table, ignored the way that Deluca looked up immediately, and glared so fiercely that Valenti ought to thank god heat vision wasn’t one of his alien powers. He leaned over, his voice a venomous whisper. "Afraid I'm going to rat you out? Call you names? Make your life hell?”

“I’d understand,” was the even response the brunette gave, eyes looking unsure but jaw tight and resolved.

Standing up, Michael decided that Deluca could put this on her tab since it was her fucking fault. Spitefully, he snarled, "I'll wait a week or two,” even though he had no plans to do anything. Maybe it’d put the dick in his place just being scared, or maybe the man was an adult not scared of being out now anyway. All Michael knew was that the irony in Kyle Valenti being bisexual was crippling, and without thinking about anything but all the shit the jock pulled in highschool, he spat out, "you owe me a blowjob”, and left.


End file.
